


The Sun

by AromanticShortStories



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aromantic Character, Dementia, Hispanic Character, Mental Health Issues, Other, Therapy, aplatonic character, dealing with every day life, spanish in text
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 05:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17954522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AromanticShortStories/pseuds/AromanticShortStories
Summary: “It’s not that I don’t like the people I meet or talk to or sleep with, it’s just...I don’t understand how people go from 'that' to ‘more'. I don’t understand what causes that change.”"Well," The Woman says "well," but it never goes further then that.





	The Sun

Before her the road stretched miles and behind her the lights followed. No matter how far she drove she could always see them, chasing her, pulling her back, a constant ebb and flow of ‘home base’. There was a fear there, deep in her gut, along with a familiarity, a warmth. Those feelings warred with each other, constantly, pulling her and pushing her in a never ending cycle

She drove, this time towards the lights, and as she drove she thought:

_‘Once there was a young girl-‘_

————

“Hey Bullfrog you got your ears on?” A crackling voice came over the radio, familiar and, in that way, comfortable.

“Sorry Joe, Having ‘shutter trouble’” she answered, rubbing at her eye as she blinked rapidly to keep awake.

“Well keep yourself moving. There is a rest area twenty miles on. Try and keep it sunny-side up Alright?”

“Ten-four. I’ll do my best.”

“An tell your ma I said hi when you bet to home base.”

“Stop clogging up the lines joe.”

“Just trying to keep you awake.”

“Shut it Joe.” She smiled. It almost felt real. Almost.

————

The office was clean but not perfect. You couldn’t afford perfect on a truck-drives paycheck but it was good enough. It was good enough that she could be here. She stopped by on her way home. She needed the anchor.

“You need a support system Claudia.” The Woman in front of her said, looking at her notes on her clipboard. Claudia felt very old and very tired and like a support system was the last thing she wanted to think about.

“I know, and I’m working on it.” She lied “It’s just…”

“Difficult?”

“Something like that.”

————

“Ma! I’m home!” She called out. The house smelled the smell of old people as she walked in. She hadn’t figured out what caused that smell, but it was constant and her house always smelled like that these days. She preferred it though. She dreaded the day she would walk in and smell roses.

“Claudia?” A voice called, there was a clattering of a walker from the kitchen, the sound of tennis balls on vinyl. “Qué estás haciendo? Donde has estado!?”

Claudia paused, her brain and tongue tying themselves in knots as she tried to find the words “Work mamá. Mi trabajo?” She tried, the words awkward on her tongue, at the entrance to the living room her mother paused, looking at her as if unable to comprehend. As if something was wrong. “Recuerda?...mamá?”

————

Juana calls her later that night. Her mother is asleep, she goes to sleep so early now. Claudia stares at the number before sighing and standing up. She’s at ‘home base’ for a few days. She might as well make the rounds.

And maybe she could start working on the ‘support system’ the doc keeps telling her about.

————

“Hey doc?” she started, tongue heavy still , the words not right. She had been speaking this language her whole life, and yet it twisted her tongue and she can’t understand why.

“Yes Claudia?” The Woman asked, patient as ever.

“How-“ she pushed, forcing the words out, “do people create a support structure anyway?” She asks. She had seen Juana last night. They had shared an hour of each other’s time, but at the end of it...Claudia hadn’t known what to do. How do you go from ‘booty call’ to ‘support system’?

The Woman seems to think for a moment, sitting back in her chair and looking up before finally talking. Claudia knows The Woman is speaking English. That she should understand. But the more she goes on the less it makes sense until it’s just a jumble of words that her mind can’t untangle and that make little sense.

“Was that helpful?” She asks at the end and Claudia deflates.

“No...not really.”

————

Ariana calls her on her next stop three cities over. She’s got a babysitter for the night and Claudia heads over. She thinks about support systems again, but then she thinks about having to make time to visit a different city outside of work and stops.

————

“I just...don’t think I can do.” She confesses the next time they meet. It’s been two weeks now. She feels like she comes here so often. “I don’t know how I am supposed to create a support system when I don’t…” She grasps for the words, she had been doing so well this week too “-feel the things people need to feel in order to create them? What am I supposed to do?”

The Woman is silent for a moment before she stands and moves to her desk, retrieving a pen and paper. “You’re a storyteller aren’t you Claudia?.” She asks as she comes back over and hands her the objects, “I would like you to try and write me a story.”

Claudia looks at the pen and paper and tries to remember the last time she had actually written anything properly. She can’t remember. She wonders why she even told The Woman she was a writer now. It seems so unimportant. “....Alright.” She concedes as she takes the paper.

————

 _“_ Hey bulldog! Long time no see. Your going to want to watch your front door for the next hundred miles, there is a bear roaming.”

“Thanks Joe but I think I’ve got this.”

“If you say so bulldog, just watching out for you.”

————

She meets her cousin Marcus for lunch later that day. He has some packages to give to her, old photo albums for her mom and she’s reminded that he lost his dad a few years back. She thinks about asking him how he handled it. Instead she asks about his daughter, she’s off to university this year isn’t she? That must be hard, hopefully she hasn’t gone to far.

As they say goodbye she wonders if he counts as a ‘support system’. She knows they won’t talk again for another few months, maybe a year, maybe more. Does it count as a support system if you only talk to them when necessary? As He drives off and she has no answers. She doesn’t know if she ever will.

————

“Why don’t we talk a little bit about fear.” The Woman prompts the next time she comes in. She doesn’t know how long it’s been this time. Time can be tricky like that every so often. Slipping between her fingers as he thoughts run off without her. She does know one thing though: she hasn’t written her story. The pen refusing to mark the paper for a long time and, once it did, the words swimming and mismatching and looking wrong.

So she says “Sure,” because It’s better then thinking of the story.

The Woman shuffles, getting comfortable, before she asks: “Do you think it is fear that is keeping you from creating a support system?” It's a careful question, one she has obviously had planned for a while. It’s a common question too, one Claudia has asked herself many times. That she has sat up late and night pondering. Fear drove her here to this seat, to this office, to this woman. That much she knew, but it was not _that_ that caused her fear. Her inability to connect to others wasn’t what scared her. What scared her was… it was.

“no.” She answered after a moment in her own mind, “It’s more...indifference. That makes it sound mean but it’s true.” The Woman indicates for her to go on so she does, “It’s not that I don’t like the people I meet or talk to, it’s just...I don’t understand how people go from ‘friends by convenience’ to ‘friends’ I don’t understand what causes that change.”

Again The Woman is silent before nodding and sitting forward “Well,” She starts “why don’t we start with ‘friend by convenience?’ And move from there”

—————

What scared her, she thought as she headed home, what scared her was just how quickly she moved on from people. How quickly she let go and if that somehow meant she hadn’t cared for them at all.

—————

“Cómo está mamá? recuerdas lo que hoy?” She tries, the words are easier this time, the flow from her tongue as if she had always been speaking them.

“Hmm? Oh! Melinda, when did you get here?” Her mother calls, the words wrong. Different. It takes Claudia a moment for her mind to adjust and her heart to stop throbbing.

“Just now Rosa.” She forces out, choked, her tongue no longer cooperating, the words no longer easy “I came to see how you are.”

“Oh! Que bueno! It’s been so long! Melinda, Have you seen Claudia? She was just here. Dio mío but That little girl runs off everywhere!” Her mom goes on and she looks so happy as she stands to go to the kitchen, likely to try and get her guest some food.

Claudia’s smile is bitter sweet as she answers “I’ll...make sure to keep an eye out for her.”

—————

The phone call comes through after she has stopped for the night in a town, nine hours from ‘home base’. She thinks it might be Felicia who was supposedly making a stop here today too but the phone number has the wrong area code and she can already feel the fear settling in as she answers and says ‘Hello?’.

————

“I don’t want to talk about support systems today.” She says and she tries not to make it sound as bitter and as angry as she is but it’s all bubbling up and she can’t _stand_ it anymore. She doesn't want to talk about support systems, she doesn’t want to talk about sexual partners, she doesn’t want to talk about how to make _friends!_ “I didn’t hire you to talk about support systems!” She cries out, she had never come here for that. She doesn’t think she had come here for that. “I hired you to help me with my mom!”

“Claudia-“ The Woman tries but Claudia does not let her keep going.

“No. No! I can’t-it's not-I can’t _talk_ about support systems or-or non existent friends right now! I can’t! I-“ and she’s crying. She crying hot and heavy and her chest is tight and her tongue is heavy and she _hurts._

“-Alright Claudia, It’s alright” The Woman says but the words are wrong and it doesn’t help

————

_Once there was-_

_————_

“Hey bullfro-“ _click_

_————_

“You must be very career focused.” The Woman says, her voice sounds muffled, like there is cotton in her ears. Claudia wonders how long has its been. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know if it matters. She feels drained and she thinks of her week (weeks?), of her mother, of the hospital...

“I suppose.” She says, latching onto the topic, though her voice doesn’t convey any enthusiasm “I love my work, it lets me travel a lot.”

“Must be lonely.” The Woman prompts and they are here again and Claudia is so tired.

“No, not really.” She answers, the exhaustion creeping in “There's always chatter on the CB and there is usually a warm bed at the end of the stop.” either her own or someone else’s. It hardly matters in the end.

“You ever participate? With the CB.” The Woman clarifies and Claudia shrugs.

“Sometimes. Depends, usually it’s just fast communication you know. You have to keep the lines open.” She explains.

“That doesn’t seem like much.”

“I guess Not,” She agrees, it’s not much really, but she can’t imagine her life with more. She can’t imagine being _happy_ with a life with more “but it’s enough for me.”

————-

Someone tries to call her that night but she’s too tired to answer. Marcus and his kids came to visit her mom at the hospital that day. She’s been seeing a lot of family she hadn’t seen in a while recently. Diego, and Roshelle, and Uncle Rodríguez, Ursula, Greg, Francis, the list goes on and on and she’s tired just thinking about it.

She doesn’t answer her phone. She not in the mood to be around people that night.

————-

“You make any friends since we last talked Claudia?” How long now? It seems so long. So long since she was here last. So long since those first days at the hospital. So long.

“No. Not really.” She answers and her voice feels off, as if it is echoing back from time. As if her ears are stuffed with cotton and her tongue swollen with disuse. “No one I would describe as a friend.” How long? “I’ve got people that check in now. Cousins. My uncle. You.”

“I’m your therapist.” The Woman answers but it’s jumbled, echoing.

“I pay you to check in.” She tries. The words stick to her mouth.

“Claudia I don’t think that counts.”

————-

They tell her she needs to move her mother into a nursing home. That she needs twenty-four hour care that Claudia can’t provide.

Her chest hurts, her tongue feels heavy, but she can do nothing but agree.

————-

“Let’s move on: still no relationships.” Today is different, but not in a good way. The world in sharp focus, better than the slow feeling of drowning but it makes her skin itch and her leg bounce and she feels like she doesn’t have time. Not for this.

“You know they don’t interest me.” She replies as she tries to get her leg to keep still. She has papers she has to sign today. They are moving her mother today. She helped picked out the nursing home but she still has to sign the papers. Why hadn’t she signed the papers?

“No friendships?” The Woman asks and it startles Claudia, bringing this room again into high focus.

“What?” She asks, the words not making sense for a moment, then: “Again: you _know_ they don’t interest me.” She doesn’t want to _talk_ about this again today. She has so much she needs to do “I like where I’m at and how I work and I don’t work with friends and relationships.” She says, voice sharp, or maybe the world is just sharp. She doesn’t have time today to pretend she wants friends or relationships “I’ve got people that check in, that’s more than enough for me.”

“okay. Okay,” The Woman concedes, obviously reading her mood “Let’s move on, what about your sexual partners?”

“What about them?” she asked, her eyes on the clock. Would she have enough time to get flowers before going to sign the papers. The nursing home looked so bleak when she had gone to see it. It would need something to lighten it up. Flowers. He mother liked marigolds. She wondered if they would be bad luck.

“Claudia!” She was pulled back, jumping slightly, The Woman sighed and put her notebook down. “Why don’t we try something else-”

She didn’t have time to get those flowers. It makes her feel like a failure.

—————

It’s a while until they get her mom settled in. She doesn’t like the place. She doesn’t like that it’s not familiar. That it isn’t the house she had lived in nearly all her adult life. Claudia tries to help but it feels like everything she does just makes things worse.

One of the nurses is fluent in Spanish and she watches from the side as he calmly explains things to her mother in a language she can understand but Claudia can’t and she feels her eyes prickle with tears.

Her mom settles down after that but it just makes Claudia’s chest hurt that much more.

—————

“Hey ma…” She said, her voice strained and soft. Whispering so she wouldn’t wake the sleeping figure on the bed. They had settled her mother into her new room swiftly once they had gotten her to calm down and allowed Claudia to stay to help ease the transition. This room was different from her moms room at home though and it didn’t feel right. It didn’t have a feeling of home. Her mother’s portraits and paintings were not on the wall, there was no crucifix by the door, the closest thing was the red-beaded rosary by her mom bedside table, the same rosary that she had had all of Claudia’s life. Claudia’s hand tightened around the pen in her hand, in her lap sat The Woman’s paper, nearly as blank as the day her therapist had given it to her. “I know you can’t really understand much of what I tell you anymore.” She went on, looking down at the paper where her words refused to go, “and my Spanish is... I don’t-I don’t have anyone to speak it to, not really,” She was gasping, her throat tight, on the paper spots began to appear. Water, dripping as she cried, “so I-I can’t practice and now I can’t even talk in a language you might understand. I can’t _talk-_ ”

“Claudia? Mija? Por qué llora?” a voice came from the bed and she hadn’t realized she had been crying so heavily. The paper in her lap was ruined, she thought maybe she could put it aside and let it dry but then she thought there was no point. The paper was worthless anyway.

She looked up to find her mothers watching her and she wiped at her eyes, “it’s…. nada mama. Lo siento. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” she tried, desperate the her mother might understand. Just for today, just for a moment.

“Oh sweetheart.” Her mother replied and it felt like a gasp of fresh air after drowning. There was still water all around her but, for a moment, she could breath. She felt terrible thinking it. Her mother’s Spanish was gorgeous and beautiful, but being able to understand her and being understood in return brought fresh tears to her eyes. “Come here. Siéntate. Whatever it is, it’s going to be alright. Alright? dios siempre tiene un nuevo camino. Si?”

“Si mamá.” She said, voice broken as the tears started to fall, heavy sobs threatening to break her again, “Gracias...Can...Can I stay here tonight?” She begged. She hadn’t felt so young in a very long time.

Her mother reached out for her, taking her hand and squeezing it in a grip that felt like nothing, “Of course mija, you can stay however long you need.”

As Claudia joined her mother on her too small bed, tears still falling heavily, she let the ruined paper fall to the ground and instead, let her mind begin to write.

_Once, there was a young girl-_

—————

“Claudia...you seem tired today.” The Woman says, her eyes full of worry. Claudia ignores it as she sits.

“I’m fine.” Claudia says, and she thinks she might mean it today. A lot had been happening, a lot had been moving and shifting around her while she could do little to stop it but now, it almost felt like things had started to settle. “I think I finally finished that story you wanted me to write.” She tells her, “if you want to hear it. It’s...an oral story though. Sorry.” She confesses, “I never could get it down on paper.”

The Woman looks surprised but pleased and puts her notebook down as she sits back. “I would be happy to hear it Claudia. Please.” She indicates and Claudia nods, starting.

  _Once, there was a young girl who came across something strange in the desert near her home. It burned brighter than anything she had ever seen and as she approached it she had to cover her eyes so she would not be blinded._

_“What are you?” She asked, and though she could not see she knew that the being had turned to her._

**_I am the sun._ ** _The sun replied_ **_I am on my journey across the world to bring light and warmth._ **

_“But you are so hot!” The young girl said, eyes shut tight as she pulled the blanket from her shoulders and held it out to protect herself._

**_To those who move too close I may burn them,_ ** _the sun agreed,_ **_but to those who keep their distance I bring great warmth and comfort._ **

_“That seems lonely” the girl replied, frowning though the sun could not see it. “Even the moon has the stars to keep them company. Yet you are alone.”_

**_But I do not feel alone._** _The sun replied, their voice growing more distant as it moved,_ ** _My journey brings me such joy and In_** **_that journey I get to bring others joy in return. Some days I get to meet new faces, and converse with so many different creatures, and though they cannot stay by my side, the fleeting moments of our time together too, bring me joy._**

_“But you will never see them again!” The girl called out, the heat of the sun fading from her skin._

**_Perhaps not. Or perhaps, when I walk upon their grounds again they will stop in greeting. Yet the moments of our interaction are no less for being short and fleeting. It matters not to me if I see them again, for the knowledge of their existence, like yours, is enough for me._ **

_And with that, the sun faded and the heat upon the girls skin turned to simple warmth as the sun continued its journey._

 The room is silent as she finishes and Claudia doesn’t know if her story is about her past sexual encounters, or if it is about her inability to create friends, or even if it is a story about her and her mother. Perhaps it is a story of all three and perhaps it is a story of none but it felt right on her tongue and she feels lighter now for having told it.

————

“I think,” she says to The Woman as their times comes to and end. The words don’t seem as heavy any more. The world doesn’t seem as heavy anymore “I think it doesn’t matter that I don’t miss the people in my memories. I think all that really matters is that they are there, in those moments, and I can draw joy from that.”

————

“Hey bullfrog! Alligator on the road ahead! Thought you might want to know.”

“Thanks Joe.”

“No problem bullfrog, keep it safe out there.”

“I will Joe. And really, Thanks. It’s good to know we’ve got someone looking out for us.” The lights are behind her now, if only for a while as she makes her trip, but they will be in front of her again soon enough and, as she travels, she thinks of the sun.

 


End file.
